


Possible (33/39)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [33]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey talks to Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (33/39)

Sam caught up with Mickey at school that afternoon. " _There_ you are!" he shouted, breaking into a run when he saw Mickey smoking a cigarette outside the cafeteria. "Where you been? Why haven't you answered my texts?"

Mickey shrugged. He hadn't been avoiding Sam exactly; he just hadn't known what to say. "I dunno, man. Busy."

"How is he?" Sam demanded, a little out of breath. "Jesus, I've been looking all over for you!"

"He's okay, I guess. Gettin' better."

"What the hell happened? Last thing I saw you guys were taking off in an ambulance. I heard Ian had some kind of seizure?"

Mickey answered briefly, feeling strangely distant. He wasn't used to anyone unrelated to him taking so much interest in his affairs, and his first instinct was to shut down the intrusion. But Sam's concern was unmistakeable, his questions genuine and personal; Mickey found himself thinking that this must be how friends acted.

"Holy hell, you must have been terrified," Sam said, when Mickey described Ian's loss of consciousness in the ambulance.

"It ... freaked me out a little." Mickey surprised himself by admitting it.

"No shit, dude. I would've lost it. So then what?"

Mickey filled in the rest of the story, Sam staring at him transfixed till the end. When they got to the part about Ian being released from the hospital Sam let out a breath of relief. 

"So he's home now?"

There was that word again. Mickey paused. "Yeah," he said after a drag on his cigarette. "I guess he is." 

Something in the way he said it caught Sam's attention. "What do you mean, you guess?" he said.

Mickey shrugged. "He's at home."

"Thank fuck." Sam slapped Mickey on the shoulder. "You got time to grab a beer or you need to get back to him?"

A beer sounded very appealing. "I got time," Mickey said. 

They walked over to the campus pub together, Sam still grilling Mickey about what had happened the night at the Jackhammer. 

"I had no idea it was you guys," Sam said, as they pulled up bar-stools with their drinks. "Couldn't fucking believe it when you I saw you high-tailing it outta there. I never saw Ian on the stretcher but I heard afterwards it was a redhead so I knew it had to be him." 

Mickey fingered the beer glass in front of him and wondered how much else Sam realized. He looked down and mumbled, "You know why it happened, right?"

"What, the seizure?"

"Yeah." Mickey nodded and shot a quick glance at Sam. He didn't want to start anything.

Sam was looking at him quizzically. "Do they know what caused it?"

Mickey shrugged. "They seem to think it was the coke."

"Really?" For a second Sam just sounded surprised. "I never heard of cocaine causing seizures."

"With the meds. They interact, apparently. Ain't good for him."

"Wait, so -- that bump he got from me? That's what did it, they think?"

Mickey shrugged again, stealing another quick glance at his friend. "I guess." He lifted his head and said sharply, "Look, I ain't blamin' you, man, I'm just --"

"Course you aren't." Sam gave Mickey an incredulous look. "Why the fuck would it be my fault?"

"Cause you gave it to him ... ?"

"So what?" 

For a second Mickey and Sam stared at each other in equally nonplussed silence.

"So ... don't that make you responsible?" Mickey asked finally, with a shake of his head.

"No," Sam said flatly. "It don't. Ian made his choice; he's responsible. I'm not responsible for other people's choices." 

It sounded so logical when Sam put it that way. "Maybe he didn't know better," Mickey ventured.

"He should have. He's on the meds. Shouldn't he know what's gonna interact with them?"

For a second Mickey remembered the emergency room nurse when Ian was admitted. _I assume he knew the risks_ , she'd said. Did he? 

"C'mon, Mickey. People get sick, they gotta manage their own condition. You can't do it for them."

Mickey leaned down to light a cigarette without responding. When he looked back up, Sam was watching him closely. 

"You know that, don't you?" Sam said.

The fact was, Mickey wasn't sure he did. "I ... His family don't seem to see it that way."

"What?" Sam grabbed the cigarette from Mickey's hand as though to force him to focus. "Are you kidding me? They're trying to guilt-trip you for this?"

"They kinda said they don't think I'm the greatest thing for him. Under the circumstances." Mickey took a swig from his glass and shrugged. "Maybe they're right."

"You _kiddin'_ me? You're the best thing he's got going for him. You been there every minute for him. Where've _they_ been?"

"They've been around," Mickey said reluctantly. _Waiting for me to fuck up_ , he heard in the back of his mind.

"Is _he_ buyin' this bullshit?" Sam asked fiercely.

"Who? Ian?" Mickey shrugged again. "I dunno."

Sam shook his head. "Ian's too smart to fall for that. His family's just putting their own shit on you. You kick 'em out of your house if they try that with you again."

Mickey grimaced and ran his hand through his hair. He took back the cigarette from Sam's hand and smoked for a minute, while Sam seemed to wait for him to respond. 

"Mickey?" Sam said finally.

"He, uh ... ain't at my house," Mickey said finally.

"What'd you mean? You said he was home."

"His home."

"His home is -- wait, Jesus Christ, Milkovich -- you let them take him back to _their_ place?" 

Sam's exasperation made Mickey more defensive. "Why you acting like I had a choice? They took him home - to their home - while I was here, at school."

"What, so you ain't seen him since then?" 

"Course I saw him. I saw him this morning."

"And what does he say? _He_ wanna be there with all those kids around?"

"He didn't -- he didn't say anything." Although, thinking about it, Ian had sounded pretty firm about not wanting to stay there, before, after the Gallaghers' party. But if he didn't want to be there, why hadn't he said something to Mickey?

"Did you ask?"

The fuse of Mickey's anger, short enough at the best of times, had burnt down almost to the core. He slammed his empty glass onto the table. "No, fuckhead, I didn't ask. Got any more interrogations for me?"

Sam gave a sudden, crooked grin. "I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I just hate the idea of those assholes making you doubt yourself."

"I ain't doubting myself," Mickey said shortly, and without conviction.

"You still think you're the best thing for Ian?" 

Had he ever thought that? Mickey shoved back his chair and stood up. "I gotta go."

As he headed toward the door, Sam grabbed his arm. When Mickey turned back, reluctantly, Sam hip-checked him and threw an arm over his shoulder. "You should," he said, with conviction. "Because I know you are."


End file.
